


Ghost Ladies Get in Free on Wednesdays

by TartCherryScones



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TartCherryScones/pseuds/TartCherryScones
Summary: Catty old ladies being catty.
Relationships: Flemeth & Mythal
Kudos: 1





	Ghost Ladies Get in Free on Wednesdays

**Author's Note:**

> I have had an image of Flemeth that I felt I should share.
> 
> Just picture this: An ancient mage queen of immense power, who may have killed at least one Titan, who is somehow connected to the Blight, who thwarted death by passing her soul down from body to body for who knows how many generations, who was worshipped as a goddess even by her contemporaries. She is fame! She is beauty! She is power!
> 
> Now picture that woman laughing. at. her. own. jokes. And not even good jokes, just cute turns of phrase. And I'm not talking about soft sniggering- that woman laughs like she just saw an arrogant Orlesian nobleman unwittingly step into a waist-deep, water-filled pothole. Sploosh!
> 
> It makes me wonder if she was laughing so much because she was sharing inside jokes with -herselves-. I'd like to think that, instead of being one blended personality, there are many. There are not just two people, Mythal and her current host, but several in her head, all of the people she has ever inhabited. This way, that they can have delightfully-catty-old-lady conversations with each other. Like so…

After sitting down heavily, Mythal stretched her arms above her head and flexed her fingers. It had been a long day. First, she had been woken early by the geese going on a rampage in the vegetable patch. Then, a trip to the hen house had been for naught, as the chickens had apparently stopped laying for the winter, so there were no eggs for breakfast. Then, Morrigan had refused to get out of bed to help prepare the morning meal, complaining of menstrual pain, which resulted in a huge fight, no help with the food, and no food for Morrigan as punishment. Finally, in a fit of horny pique, the mage known as, the Witch of the Wilds, had turned into a raven and winged off to find herself a man, preferably one with something tasty in his pack, which had taken all day and produced poor results.

Mythal kicked her feet up in her conjured chair as she observed the world through the mage known as, the Witch of the Wilds. Mythal leaned over to Flemeth, who was watching the sad performance of the human man they had lured back to the hut as he grunted endlessly in his labors, and complained.

“You know, back in my day, I could get any man I wanted. If I wanted an orgy, all I had to do was snap my fingers and,” Mythal flung out a hand and snapped her fingers once theatrically, “I had a flesh pit to dive into. But now look at me. I have to settle for this smelly Chasind man, who couldn't find my clitoris if I drew him a diagram.” Mythal grimaced and sighed in grief. Flemeth sniffed disdainfully before she chimed in as well.

“That's what's wrong with the world today; too few orgies!” 

“And not enough proper liquor,” Flemeth’s tenth daughter added next. The woman had been quite the brewer in her time and she had become picky about her ales after her death. “I wouldn’t mind so much how freakishly small the man’s nose is, if I were drunk. As it is, it’s all I can think about!” All of the women assembled murmur in agreement.

“It is too small!” One of the woman in the back of the peanut gallery called. “Why is it so small?”

“Men are only good for one thing and this one isn’t even good for that. My husband had a smaller dick than this lout does, but he knew how to use it,” Flemeth reminisced. “Boy, did he ever.”

“I trained my Elgar’nan to have the best tongue in all of Elvhenan,” Mythal recalled fondly. Then, light lightning struck, her mood burnt and blackened. “I’m going to kill him! But first I’ll make him beg for death, the traitor! I’ll gut him and burn him! I’ll tear his soul into a thousand pieces and scatter them in the winds with the ashes of his mortal remains! I’ll-!”

“Yes, yes. We know! You’ve told us every day for the last several hundred years! We understand the plan! Please, just have your villainous tirade in an inside voice for once!” The thirty-first Witch of the Wilds said.

“How dare you?!” Mythal cried in fury.

“Easily, you miserable old bitch!” The woman fired back. It would have escalated from there, but the women were all distracted by the sensation created when the man finally laid his hand upon the mage known as, the Witch of the Wild’s, clit and stroked hard.

“Ooh! Good boy,” One of the women said happily. 

“Don’t stop,” the host commanded of the man. He didn’t. 

In the end, as a reward for bringing the mage known as, the Witch of the Wilds, to orgasm, she gave him a quick death. He never even saw it coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Wouldn't it be grand if her head is filled with these snarky old women who can provide a constant stream of cutting insults and witty retorts, like, “Ugh. Can that woman even see what she's wearing? That dress is so five centuries ago.” And “Yeah, you're sooo big. I've -never- seen one that big before. What an adolescent. Does he want an award, or something? Just go faster, you moron.” And, “Oh, no! Not Templars! *gasp* What -ever- am I going to DO?! Oh, I'm -so- scared. I'm just going to have to turn into a dragon and use you all as finger puppets.”


End file.
